


First Rise

by maebyrutherford (maeberutherford)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, Fluff, New Year's Fluff, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 04:10:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5613505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maeberutherford/pseuds/maebyrutherford
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This idea was sparked by sehnsuchttraum on tumblr, who has a lovely tradition of watching the sunrise on New Year’s Day. It’s my way of saying Happy New Year to all of you, I hope 2016 brings you whatever you wish for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Rise

He wakes, and when he realizes its not even dawn, he curses his faulty internal timekeeper - which, to be fair, is probably as hungover as he is. His head carries the fog of the night’s revelry, the mead leaving its traces in every part of his body. He sits up with effort, too much effort ( _I’ll have to remember to stop at five mugs next time_ , he thinks) and dully registers that he’s still wearing his leather breeches. He has a brief memory of his boot being tugged off.

Cullen yawns, stretches, and his hand comes down on a piece of parchment where Ingrid should have been in his bed. He remembers them stumbling back here from the main hall - or was it he who stumbled and she who supported him? - and not much after that. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes and giving his temples a rigorous rub, he reads.

_Spending time with Sera like I promised. Hope you’re feeling okay. I filled the water pitcher for you. All my love - Ingrid_

“All hail the Herald,” he croaks, meaning it with all his heart even though it sounds sarcastic, crosses the room and downs three cupfuls of the water. He hums with appreciation when he tastes the mint.

Moment by moment the fog begins to lift along with the sun, which is soon to crest the horizon, turning the sky into a striking shade of lavender through the hole in his roof. He splashes his face with the mint water, straightens his hair, pulls on a clean tunic and his informal boots, and heads toward Herald’s Rest.

Other than empty bottles of all types, tankards and half eaten cakes scattered around, Sera’s room is empty. A familiar sound wafts through an open stained glass window.

Cullen pokes his head through it and narrowly avoids being lobbed by something falling from above. He cranes his neck to look up and sees four feet dangling over the edge of the roof, one of them bare.

“Sera, your shoe!” Ingrid cries, giggling.

“Who gives a flying fuck?” Sera snarks, making Ingrid laugh harder.

“Hello?” Cullen calls up, and two heads come into view above him.

“It’s Cully-Wully!” Sera shouts with glee, swinging her legs.

“You’re awake!” Ingrid says, gesturing. “Come up!”

He looks around. “How?”

Sera points to his right. “The trellis, silly.”

He eyes it skeptically, and opens his mouth to protest when Sera interrupts.

“Yes, Ser Cautious, it’ll hold,” Sera drones. “Now come on already! We have cookies!”

“And wine,” Ingrid adds. He certainly isn’t interested in that.

Cullen sighs, hauls himself on the spacious window ledge and grasps the trellis outside, testing it. It’s not that he’s fearful of heights, it’s that he isn’t entirely trusting of the load-bearing capabilities of this flimsy construct and would prefer to avoid injury. He looks up and climbs quickly, taking advantage of his long reach and tall legs, and when he reaches the roof he’s met with cheers.

The girls scoot apart and pat the space between them, so he obliges and takes a seat, letting his legs hang over the edge.

“So why move the festivities up here?” Cullen asks, declining the wine bottle offered to him.

“It’s Sera’s First Day tradition, to watch the sun come up,” Ingrid says sleepily, linking her arm through his and leaning on his shoulder.

“Oh?” Cullen says, looking at Sera.

The elf shrugs, staring at the horizon. “Yeah, I mean, this time I actually have someone to share it with so… “ She shoots a glare at Cullen before taking a huge bite of cookie, crumbs clinging to her lips.

“I know it’s stupid, so don’t give me any shit, all right?” Sera says through a mouthful of cookie.

Cullen lifts his arm to put it around Ingrid, letting her lean on his chest. “I don’t think it’s stupid at all,” he says, watching Sera stubbornly refuse to look him in the eye. He follows her gaze, and sees the sun finally start to break over the mountains.

He’s seen countless sunrises; in Ferelden, the Free Marches, Orlais, and now in this no-man’s land where Skyhold sat, but he’s seldom taken the time to truly appreciate them. This was one was shaping up to be a beauty; the skyline just above the mountain caps was building to a brilliant yellow, the spherical top of the sun itself blazing orange and ushering in the beginning of a brand new year of possibilities.

“It’s lovely,” Cullen remarks, looking down at Ingrid. She’s fast asleep, her cheek smashed against his chest and her mouth falling open. He smiles and places a soft kiss on her forehead.

“Is she _sleeping_?” Sera asks loudly, and he gently shushes her.

She crosses her arms and pouts. “She promised to watch with me.”

Cullen takes a cookie from the sack. “Well, I’m here. Are there any other parts to this tradition of yours?” He takes a bite, dreading what it might taste like, but it’s actually quite good; lusciously buttery with cinnamon and sugar.

Again, Sera seems to read his mind. “Didn’t make those. Why bother when Cook’s are so good, right?”

He takes another bite and watches the sky brighten; now the sun is fully visible but still low in the sky. Clouds in feathery striations stretch around it.

“Anyway,” she says softly, thoughtfully, “I think about the people - you know, that were lost, who suffered - I think about them when I look at the sunrise, and, it’s like, they’re in it, they’re in that light, saying _remember_ , but it’s okay to move on.” She snorts and glances at him. “It’s daft, innit?”

He finds himself staring at her while she stares at the sunrise, sees the sadness in those large eyes, the golden rays of sun electrifying the blue, and he understands.

He lifts his cookie toward the sun. “To those we lost this past year, may we never forget them.”

She looks at him, almost in alarm, and a slow smile spreads on her lips. She holds up the last bit of her cookie.

“And to a new year full of kicking everyone’s arse!” Sera says. “Only the ones who deserve it, ‘course.”

“Of course.”

They nod at each other and take bites of their cookies to seal the toast, and Sera gradually scoots closer to him until their thighs are touching. He knows her well enough to know that it’s not done lightly.

“Thanks,” she says quietly after a little while. He’s about to reply when a ripping snore comes from Ingrid’s gaping mouth, and they both burst into laughter.


End file.
